


The Haunting of Hale House

by Spoodlemonkey



Series: Inktober/Goretober [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ghosts, Inktober/Goretober 2017, M/M, Month of Halloween, Multi, Tags to be updated with story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-07 20:45:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12240348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoodlemonkey/pseuds/Spoodlemonkey
Summary: The first day of October in Beacon Hills: the leaves begin to fall, the day grows cold, and ghosts appear at their doors.





	1. Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to try and take part in Inktober/Goretober in celebration of the month of Halloween! This is currently a work in progress, so cross your fingers and we'll see where this takes us! Title a play on a horror story. Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own!

 

He’s sprawled out on the McCall couch celebrating the first day of Halloween with Scott, candy, and the first of many shitty horror movies (like their life isn’t enough of one already). He can hear Melissa moving about upstairs, getting ready for a long night at the hospital. His dad had texted to say he was on the night shift, and that he’d know if Stiles was up all night again. Scott rips into a Hershey bar, a furnace pressed against his side under the mountain of blankets they’ve stolen from around the house. The cuddling thing isn’t new, even if the other wolves claim it’s just part of their change. Stiles calls bullshit, everyone loves a good cuddle, even grumps like Derek.

“Alright boys,” Melissa comes into the room, glancing over the candy wrappers. “Try to eat _something_ that isn’t 100 percent sugar.”

“Sure mom,” Scott grins and Stiles knows he’s counting the popcorn they have to pop later. Melissa looks like she knows exactly what Scott’s thinking.

A knock on the door calls her attention away from them thankfully. They keep half an ear on the movie, but years of the unexpected showing up at their doors has made them wary.

For good cause.

Scott is on his feet first. Stiles doesn’t know what he heard but he follows without thinking as Scott lunges from the room.

The door is wide open, the light from the porch spilling in. There’s an elderly woman standing in the door way, her arms wide open and beseeching. Scott’s already pulled his mother back away from her before he seems to realize who it is.

“Abuela?”

His voice cracks, eyes wide. Stiles can’t blame him, he’d been twelve when Scott’s Abuela had passed away. His dad had helped him dress in his best suit and they’d gone to the funeral. He and Scott had sat in the lounge with plates of cookies, caught in that awkward age where it wasn’t quite alright for them to cry anymore.

Dunia McCall doesn’t look quite right though. She looks more like the woman they laid to rest than the woman they had known when she had been alive. Her skin is so pale it’s translucent. Her eyes are dark shadows and her reaching fingers seem to fade into nothing.

A cold wind rips through the doorway, the frames on the walls rattle and Stiles feels chilled to the bone.

“Mom?” Melissa chokes out but makes no move to approach her, to step into her embrace. Dunia doesn’t move any further, seems frozen before the threshold like she cannot pass.

“Stiles,” Scott keeps himself planted firmly between them, gaze frozen on the door. “Could it be…”

“I don’t know.” He says even as his mind screams at him _no_. The dead do _not_ come back.

They’ve proven that wrong time and time again though.

Scott’s ringtone for Allison echoes through the silence in the hall. Scott throws the door shut and fumbles out his phone. Stiles keeps waiting for the moment when _whatever_ that was comes through the door. Walls aren’t enough to keep a spirit out, aren’t enough to keep much of _anything_ out.

“Allison…what…” Scott breaks off. Shock, worry, fear pass across his face. Stiles strains to hear her but its all distant and tinny. He wishes he had the wolves hearing.

“It’ll be alright.” He promises, hanging up. His phone pings in his hands and whatever the message says makes him wince.

“What’s going on?” Stiles moves to the door, peering through the windows alongside. The porch is empty now. He pulls open the door but the night is silent again.

“I’d like to know that too.” Melissa scrubs a hand over her face. “What the hell _was_ that?”

“Maybe you should stay home.”

“Can’t afford to, especially if tonight continues like this.” Melissa sighs, presses a kiss to Scott’s cheek. “You guys are going out, aren’t you.”

A year ago, she would have tried to get them to stay inside, out of harms way. They would have gone anyways. They don’t answer.

They watch Melissa until she turns off the street, her head lights disappearing, then Scott grabs his jacket and hands Stiles his.

“We’re going out?”

“Yeah,” Scott leads the way to the jeep and climbs into the passenger side. “Allison’s mother just showed up at her house.”

“Shit.” Stiles winces.

“And Isaac’s brother followed him to Derek’s loft.”

“So, it’s city wide.” Stiles pulls out of the drive. He drums his thumbs against the steering wheel and considers turning down the familiar road to his own house.

Scott reaches out, grips his shoulder gently. “We’re meeting everyone at Derek’s.”

He bites his lip and pretends Scott doesn’t know what he was considering.

::

The hall outside of the loft is thankfully empty when they get there. Stiles had been dreading having to get through a crowd of the undead. He doesn’t know what they are or what they want but with their luck it’s never anything good.

Most of the pack is already there; Scott pulls Allison in for a hug as soon as they step inside, a moment later Isaac joins them. Stiles bypasses the trio and counts the heads. They’re missing Lydia, and oddly enough Derek. The others look up, look for answers but he has none.

“Where are Lydia and Derek?”

“Derek was at the old house, but he texted to say he was on his way.” Boyd says. “Haven’t heard from Lydia yet.”

“I left a message,” Allison adds in. “But she was going to the movies with Jackson.”

“So, what the hell is going on?” Erica demands. “Because my uncle showed up and my parents are losing it. He died when I was _six_.”

“Did he appear at your door?” Stiles checks, an idea slowly forming. She nods and he asks Allison and Boyd the same.

“But Cam followed me here, he wasn’t waiting for me.”

“You just moved in here. You’d been pretty much homeless before.” Stiles points out. Erica glares and he continues quickly. “It looks like these ghosts, or whatever they are, are linked to our homes. Otherwise someone would have shown up for me at Scott’s.”

“Your mom.” Allison says softly.

 Stiles clears his throat.

“Probably. It means Lydia and Jackson will be fine till they get home at least.”

“So that still doesn’t tell us why or how.” Scott chimes in.

“We should find out if its effecting other people as well.” Allison adds. “I’ll call dad and see if he can help.”

The shrill ringing of Stile’s phone draws him away from them as they start to form a plan. He answers the call reluctantly when the caller display reads _Douchebag_.

“Stilinski!” Jackson barks. “Why the _hell_ are there dead people on my porch.”

“What’re you doing home already?” Its half passed seven, most movies don’t even start until now.

“I’ve been home all night, that doesn’t answer my question!” Jackson sounds stressed, not a new sound for him, but the fear in his voice is. “And, I think they might be…my parents?”

His biological parents then. But the first part sinks in a moment later.

“You’re not with Lydia?”

He barely waits for Jackson to reply before he’s hanging up. He calls up her number and listens to it ring over and over before sending it to voicemail. He calls again. Same result.

“Lydia’s not with Jackson,” he interrupts the group discussion. “And she’s still not answering.”

“That’s not like her.” Allison frowns, pulling out her own phone, to try it herself. She doesn’t have any more luck.

Stiles tries Derek next with a growing sense of fear. There’s no voicemail. He listens to it ring and ring and ring.

“Right, somethings happening at the preserve.” He turns on his heel and heads for the door, aware of the others following close behind.

“Allison and I will take Isaac, Stiles take Erica and Boyd. We’ll meet up at the Hale house.” Scott takes charge easily.

“We’re probably walking into a trap.” Erica mutters. Stiles bumps his shoulder against hers. The smile she gives him is grim. It does nothing to ease the ball of anxiety that is growing in his chest.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek is out at the Hale house with a contractor the first day of October. The leaves in the preserve are rapidly changing colours, painting the forest a blinding mixture of reds and yellows and oranges. The air is crisp with the promise of a cool winter and he keeps his hands buried in his pockets in deference to it.

 It’s been niggling at the back of his mind for awhile now, now that it’s quiet again in Beacon Hills, for however long they’re _allowed_ quiet, why not regain this part of himself?

Permanence. Something he’s been missing for years now. Something he’s been trying to rebuild with the new pack. He’s been putting this off for month now, with each new threat to arise, each new problem that takes precedence. And it’s not like they _have_ to do anything. They won’t do anything until spring anyways, but this at least gives him options. Something he’s been thinking about a lot lately, the idea that he can have things for himself.

Or maybe someone.

They work out a rough sketch of the area, check to see if its possible to salvage any of the old structure, or even if he wants to—he thinks he does, thinks that maybe it will be alright if he keeps something for himself.

It’s late when the contractor’s car disappears down the drive and Derek settles back on the porch. He toys with his phone, feeling restless, like he needs to share this with someone but unable to reach out. This feels…big. Like a bigger deal than he wants it to be. He’s not sure he’s ready to commit to it yet but he has months to decide, there’s not rush.

Maybe what he needs is a distraction.

He brings up Stiles’ number, hesitating over the call button.

It’s late, he’s probably busy.

He closes it and shoots Boyd a quick text that he’s on his way home.

There’s a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. He tenses. Claws prickling his palms.

He still doesn’t see it coming.

::

The stars are out when he opens his eyes. There’s a canopy of branches above his head.  He’s laying on the ground, cold, bare to the waist. His chest feels damp, but not sore so whatever happened it’s not from his own blood.

It should phase him that he recognizes the feeling, but it doesn’t.

He sits up. The forest is quiet around him. His shirt and jacket are in a neat pile a few feet away just out of reach. He pushes to his feet, alert, and bounces off a barrier of mountain ash. He snarls, trapped in a circle just large enough for him to lay down, or pace. It’s a big cage, but a cage nonetheless.

Derek reaches up, wipes a hand through the liquid on his chest. It smells like blood, human too, but he doesn’t smell it anywhere else in the area. The lines are smudged now but they still resemble odd shapes he swears he’s seen before. Maybe in one of his family’s old books.

He strains but can’t hear any heartbeats nearby.

He’s alone.

::

Stiles turns onto the road in the preserve, bouncing in his seat as they hit rocks and holes in the ground. The road has seen better days and he grips the wheel urging it past this bend knowing it will at least open up ahead. Next to him Boyd grips the dash with what had better _not_ be supernatural strength. He’s leaning over the wheel, squinting in the dark, convinced something is going to jump out at them at any moment, whether it be a rogue omega or a fluffy bunny. With the amount of time Derek still spends out at the house, he’s going to start petitioning for getting the backroad fixed enough that he’s not worried his jeep will rattle apart every time they come out here.

Speaking of,

The burnt-out shell of the house is illuminated by his headlights. They keep the headlights on for the moment and climb out of the car. Chances are if there’s anything supernatural around its heard them coming so it’s not going to matter if they keep the lights on for the human members of the pack.

Stiles pulls out his phone, using speed dial to call up Derek’s phone. 

“I hear it,” Erica darts over to the porch, scooping something up from the tall grass growing there. Stiles ends the call and the phone in Erica’s phone stops buzzing.

“He was here when he texted Boyd,” she tosses the phone to Stiles. He unlocks it, scrolling through the messages and call log to see if there’s anything that might help them. A message to Boyd, a conversation with him. There’s nothing. “Where is he now?”

The other arrive shortly after.

“No answer at Lydia’s house.” Scott tells them as they climb out of Allison’s car and Stiles fights the panic curling in his chest. “Any luck with Derek?”

“Just his phone.”

“Can you pick up his scent?” Allison asks, pulling a flashlight from her car and her bow.

There’s a few frustrated minutes as the wolves wander around, crouched low and noses twitching as they try to find their alpha’s scent. Stiles watches, amused despite the situation. He’s grabbed the bat he keeps in the back of his jeep, leaning against it next to Allison as she dons her quiver.

It’s pretty clear that whatever has taken Derek is supernatural, and covered its scent pretty thoroughly.

“Plan B?” Stiles asks and Allison nods, scouting the area where they found Derek’s phone. A moment later she has a direction to follow.

“Supernatural or not, they always forget to cover up the little things.” She points out where the brush has been disturbed. There’s no guarantee it will lead them to Derek but it’s better than nothing.

They shut off the engines and set off further into the woods. Stiles feels like he knows them better at night than he does during the day, nothing ever seems to happen while the sun is out. The pack spreads out around them and Stiles sticks near Allison, trying to follow in her footsteps but it still feels like he manages to find every stick to snap along the way.

It’s dark above them, the moon blotted out by the canopy above. He shivers, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. It’s not the cold. The silence of the forest is broken only by the sound of his own breathing, his rapidly beating heart. He stops.

“Allison,” She turns, keeps the flashlight pointed at his chest. “I can’t hear the others.”

“Scott?” She calls out, turning in a circle. “Isaac?”

The silence presses in around them.

“Shit, now what?” He pulls out his phone, unsurprised to see it’s dead. Allison’s phone proves to be the same.

“We keep going.” She says, firm. “Whatever has Derek probably has the others.”

“And if not, we’re bound to wander into them eventually.” He hefts the weight of his bat, trying to find reassurance in it. It doesn’t offer much. “Lead the way.”

::

There’s a little boy.

Derek doesn’t notice him, prowling the perimeter of his cage until he’s passed him. He stops, looks back, convinced that he’s imagined it.

But no, he’s really there.

“Hey kiddo,” he crouches as close to the barrier as he dares to go, puts himself at eye level with the little solemn looking boy sitting crossed legged in the grass.

It occurs to him that there’s no way this kid can be out in the preserve, especially alone and at night. He squints in the poor lighting and can see how pale he is, how dark and endless his eyes are. Derek shudders. But, as he studies the face and sharp features, he realizes he _knows_ him. And it’s _devastating_.

That’s when the others start to appear.

One after another, standing around the barrier like they’ve been there forever and Derek is only just noticing them. Which is impossible- there’s no way he’d _ever_ forget them.

His heart pounds in his chest, his lungs can’t seem to bring in enough oxygen. They reach out but their hands stop short of the barrier. Derek flinches back, tries to turn away but they’re every where he looks. Panic is swirling through him, grips him, shakes him and knocks him to his knees. He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, digs in, tries to erase the images there.

The forest is still silent to his ears but he knows they’ll be there when he opens his eyes. His chest is tight, he wants to lash out, he wants to run, to hide.

They don’t have to talk he can imagine what they would say, how they would blame him, how _disgusted_ they would be with him.

A sob escapes him. He bites his tongue until he tastes blood to keep the rest in. His eyes ache and he digs his palms in harder, refusing to look, fighting the insatiable urge to drink them in after _so long_. To see if their faces are as he remembers, to see if time has changed them in his memories, if he’s forgotten the dimples, the freckles, the little nuances he’s tried so hard to hang onto.

He doesn’t realize his hands have fallen to rest on his thighs until he’s face to face with Laura.


	3. Chapter 3

“You can’t be _real._ ” His voice cracks as he begs this apparition before him to _not_ be his sister. No matter how desperately he wants to see them again, this isn’t the way.

“They are.”

Derek jerks at the voice, whips his head around but all he can see are the faces of his family members, staring down at him with endless, emotionless gazes. He flinches, drops his eyes.

“They’re as real as you and me.” The voice, male, continues. It sounds like he’s circling Derek, just out of sight. “And they’re here to help.”

“Help?” He growls. “How are they supposed to help me?”

“Not you.” The man corrects.

::

He catches sight of it not long after they lose the others. A haunting shape following them silently from a distance. Stiles only manages to spot it as he nearly trips into a burrow hidden in the dark.

“You see it?” He hisses, grip tight on his bat.

Allison nods, keeps her gaze on the invisible path they’re following. It’s slow going, too dark to see properly and so easy to lose what little trail they have. Frustration is fueling the panic in his chest as their paces gets slower and slower. _Anything_ could be happening to Derek, to the others, and they’re still in the middle of nowhere following what might be a _deer_ trail instead of a path to them.

But he trusts Allison, trusts her keen eye, knows she’ll get them there in the end.

Which leaves him to keep an eye on the ghostly follower.

They stay far enough back that Stiles can’t make out if he knows them, can only see the vague ethereal outline. He thinks about approaching them, but discards the idea pretty quickly. They don’t know if these things will hurt them— _can_ hurt them. He’s not looking to find out.

“There’s something up ahead.” Allison murmurs, shutting off her flashlight. Stiles reflexively checks his phone but it’s still dead. It’s late though, they’ve been on their own for awhile now with no signs of the others.

The trees thin out before them and they creep forwards, drawn in by the pale light filtering from the clearing. It’s a fair guess as to what to expect, but the _amount_ is startling. Ghostly apparitions fill the clearing, stock still, gazes vacant as they stare off at something Stiles cannot see. He wonders what it is. He’s probably better off not knowing. There’s a thicker knot of them off to one side, ringed around someone. Stiles’ breath catches in his throat at the agonized shout from the center of the ring.

“Over there!” Allison grips his arm, pulls his attention to the far side of the clearing. The pack lay in pile on the ground. He can’t tell from here if they’re breathing, refuses to think of the alternative.

It kills him but together they make their way silently over to the others. Some of the anxiety in his chest lessens at the sight of Scott’s chest rising and falling. He exhales, scrubs a hand over his head and tries to think. The wolves are all out cold, thinking it’s not magic is naïve and a waste of time. The chances of waking them up isn’t very good until they know what they’re dealing with.

Movement catches his eye and they freeze. A man with greying hair and stooped shoulders passes through the clearing. He holds an old, leather bound book in his hands, the kind that Stiles has learned can only mean trouble. The ghosts part as he makes his way, letting him through silently.

“It’s always evil old guys.” Stiles scowls. Allison shoots him a _look_.

He doesn’t apologize, because it’s _true_ but does lead them back around, gets them as close to Derek as he can. He’s actually a little impressed with himself, no sticks snapped _this_ time.

“How’re we going to get to him?”

“See if this guy leaves and sneak in?” He suggests.

“Stiles,” Allison says, urgent. He turns and has to bite his lip to keep from making a sound. He’d _forgotten_ about their ghostly follower.

Of all people, he can honestly say he wasn’t expecting _Matt_ _Daehler_.

Out of sight out of mind—that’s the saying, right? He’d put Matt as far out of his mind as he could, judging by Allison’s reaction she had as well. They’d never expected to run into him again. He doesn’t do anything though, doesn’t move but appears to come closer and closer. Allison casts a glance at the clearing. There’s no way this isn’t going to give them away, if it hasn’t already. How do they know they weren’t being watched through Matt’s eyes this entire time?

“Okay, new plan.” He hefts his bat. “You distract him and I get Derek.”

Allison nods, rises and slinks off into the dark. Stiles takes a deep breath, ignores the terrifying dark gaze on his back and moves quickly and quietly towards the ring.

It’s fine until he reaches them. No one turns towards him, there’s no yelling, nothing. Just this eerie silence that has descended. He can’t hear Derek anymore. That’s the most terrifying part.

He paces, looking for a way through but there’s nothing.

“Alright,” he holds the bat out. “This is such a bad idea.”

He presses it against the ghost. It slides right through them like they’re not even there. Ghosts, he can work with this. He holds his hand out, touches the ghost and recoils immediately. It’s freezing, his skin feels numb, like he’s held his hand in ice water for too long.

He hates this plan already.

::

Derek’s on the ground, eyes clenched shut, hands in his hair as he tugs until it hurts and tries to feel something other than the overwhelming despair and guilt that’s lodged itself in his chest, choking him.

If this is the grand plan, to make him wish for death by surrounding him with his greatest failures his biggest, most unforgiveable mistakes…

He was a kid, he keeps telling himself. He was used.

Every time he opens his eyes Laura is staring down at him.

“ _Shit,_ ” Something comes skidding through the circle, landing in an awkward pile of limbs next to him.  

His eyes fly open. This is another trick, it has to be.

“ _Such_ a bad plan.” Stiles’ teeth knock together, arms wrapped around himself as shivers wrack his body. Derek can hear the elevated rate of his heart, latches onto the sound. He manages to unclench his fingers from his own hair and reach out, to confirm. Stiles surprises him by lunging into his arms, freezing to the touch, but _solid_. “Oh my god you’re so _warm_.”

“Stiles?” It’s easier to focus on him, the rapid beating of his heart, his smell, his body, to block out the ghosts from his past.

“Yeah buddy,” Stiles wraps himself tight around him, shivers gradually lessening. “We’re breaking you out.”

“The pack?”

“Me and Allison.” Stiles hums, squeezes Derek tight for another moment before suddenly pulling away. Derek has to stop himself from holding tight, from refusing to let him go, and returning to this nightmare. “We have to go rescue the others too.”

“What the hell is going on?”

“Still working that part out.” Stiles crouches by the edge of the barrier, studying the line of mountain ash. He doesn’t even glance at Derek’s great aunt standing less than a foot away and he wonders if Stiles can even _see_ them or if this is Derek’s burden alone.

In one quick move he breaks the mountain ash barrier and Derek is on his feet quickly. Stiles stops him before he can push through the ghosts.

“This part sucks.” He warns him. Without the barrier there’s nothing holding the ghosts at bay and they come closer, reach out for him. He freezes.

“Not the time.” Stiles mutters, grabbing his hand. It’s grounding, gets him to focus on the here and now. He lets Stiles pull him forwards.

It’s the coldest he’s ever felt, like his bones have frozen and the blood in his veins has stopped flowing, turning to ice. But it’s over in a moment and he’s panting, clutching Stiles close as they try to regain a fraction of the heat they’ve lost.

“We need to move.” Stiles stutters, teeth clacking together. Derek’s ghosts have turned, facing them and he flinches back under the unwavering gaze. The clearing is filled with apparitions and they’re all focused on the pair.

“Shit that’s creepy.” Stiles mutters, pulling far enough away to grab his bat off the ground before returning to Derek’s side.

“How _dare_ you?” The voice is less impressive attached to the frail looking man before them. His gaze bounces from Allison where she’s standing between him and the pack, an arrow ready, and Stiles and Derek. The rage in his eyes is startling, feels like a physical blow. The tears, the look of utter devastation is a surprise and sucks the breath from his chest.

“Dude, what is your problem?” Stiles flinches back against Derek’s side as one of the ghosts reaches out. Derek pulls him closer, keeps him out of reach.

“You won’t stop it—I won’t let you!”

The ghosts turn as one. In his ears Stiles’ heart is pounding, the stench of sweat and fear is strong in the air. He focuses on this and not on the endless gazes staring them down. On Laura’s face or his mothers. Stiles’ hand is still clasped tightly in his own, an anchor.

“Drain them!” The old man bellows. His voice reverberates through the clearing. The twang of Allison’s bow follows immediately after. He can’t see her anymore, can’t see the old man. Can only see the faces of the dead before him.

“Drain them? What the hell does that mean?” Stiles yelps as one gets too close. His voice cracks with panic. “What do we do now? Derek?”

He doesn’t have an answer.  


	4. Chapter 4

Traffic in Beacon Hills is always supernaturally light. For a town their size it should take them longer to get from point A to point B, but aside from the chaos of pulling out of the school parking lot at the end of the day, she hasn’t been in a traffic jam since her last trip to New York. Outside of the city the streams of traffic multiply exponentially until it makes one question why they would ever leave Beacon Hills willingly. It’s not the first time she’s wondered if it’s supernatural induced. It could be old magic, something left over from the first settlers, or it could be their mayor, ensuring that the population of Beacon Hills only grows, never declines. Or maybe it’s the universe making up for the insanity that is their town by taking pity on their roads.

Whatever it is, Lydia’s taking full advantage of it now.

She’s the only car on this stretch of road headed into the downtown core. Traffic should be increasing but despite the fact that it’s not long after rush hour, the streets remain relatively empty.

She’s going to swing by the library to pick up the original Latin version of a book on cursed trees, then grab takeout and head home for a night of reading, bubble baths and Italian. Her dates been cancelled because Jackson’s parents have decided they want him home for a business dinner to show him off, so she’s going to have a night for _herself_.

Instead she nearly hits someone.

The lights seem dimmer tonight, and she nearly misses him as he steps from the curb to cross. She _does_ miss him with her car but it’s not by much. She slams on the brakes, heart pounding in her chest.

“Shit,” she fumbles for her seatbelt, feeling where it bit into her skin. The mans on the ground, illuminated by her headlights. For a moment she thinks she’s killed him. She needs to call the paramedics, needs to call the Sheriff. Her phone is resting on the passenger seat and she grabs it but the battery has died on her. Of all the times for her phone to prove to be useless. The night air is brisk as she climbs out of her car, sending shivers down her spine.

She takes a breath and gets a hold of herself. She didn’t _feel_ her car hit anything, she needs to check him first.

“Sir?” She calls out, hurrying to his side. Dread curls through her, followed closely by an apprehension she can’t explain.

He’s awake, sitting up, he probably fell trying to get out of the way. She swallows down the guilt, the taste sour in her mouth.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” He’s easily in his late sixties, early seventies. She knows how bad a fall at that age can be. “I should have been watching the road.”

He winces as he braces himself to get up and she hurries to help him to his feet.

“Let me take you to the hospital.”

“I’m sure that’s not necessary.”

“Could I at least drive you somewhere?” She glances at her car idling in the street. She’s waiting for another car to come along, to flag it down to call someone. It’s the scene of an accident, they shouldn’t just leave.

The man hesitates but she persists.

“It’s the least I can do.”

He lets her help him into the passenger seat of the car and directs him to his grandson’s house.

“Thomas,” he says when she asks his name.

He has her turn down a dark street. The side walk ends at the edge of the preserve and it’s as dark and foreboding as it ever is at night. She parks in front of a small, one story house. There aren’t any lights on and she’s hesitant to leave him by himself.

“It’s fine,” Thomas looks past Lydia, peering out her window into the night. “There’s my grandson now.”

There’s a glow, almost like the light of a phone but dimmer, colder.

She glances over, her breath catches in her throat.

“You’re all going to help me bring him back.”

Matt Daehler reaches out, his hand going through the door like its not even there. He touches her and she’s unconscious before the terrible scream that’s building inside of her can be released.

::

Stiles is losing it.

He’s totally fine with admitting this, because taking part in some bizarre ghost ritual was _not_ on his list to do tonight. So, he’s not coping as well as he should be. Derek isn’t either if the tortured look on his face is anything to go by. The guys been through enough already, bringing his loved ones back, as shells of themselves is _sick_. He channels his rage at the universe for its hate on for Derek Hale and tries to focus, to plan.

He drops Derek’s hand and thinks about how much he wants the mountain ash in his bat to do _something_ and swings.

Predictably it goes right through the ethereal image of Talia Hale.

She reaches for him and he manages to avoid all but her fingertips as he trips back over his own feet to get out of the way. It’s worse than the first time. It’s intentional this time and it feels like pricks of ice spreading through his bicep, freezing it from the inside out until it’s heavy and his arm is numb against his side. Derek catches him, rights him on his feet and keeps a tight grip on him, probably to stop him from trying anything as stupid as that again. It was a long shot anyways, he’d just figured there had to be some connection between the mountain ash circle keeping them _out_ that he could use. Clearly, he needs to start carrying the loose stuff around with him again.

“I’m open to suggestions!”

“So am I!” Derek shouts back, dragging them out of reach. The edge of the clearing comes up behind them. They could run, it’s not like these guys are particularly _fast_. But the rest of the pack is still in there somewhere and Allison would be on her own.

Derek lets loose a pained howl as a hand pushes through his shoulder. Stiles yanks hard and they stumble away from the ghost, the hand sliding out of Derek like it was never there, but it’s clearly having an effect. He slumps and Stiles has to support him as he fights to regain his feet, eyes bleeding red, fangs dropping.

“Okay, lets get into the woods.” Stiles drags Derek with him. “Make it harder for them to get to us—”

He chokes. He can’t see an end in Matt’s eyes, just dark, empty voids that suck him in. His chest is frozen, he can’t get any air into his lungs. Matt’s hand has disappeared into his chest, up to his wrist. It looks _wrong;_ it feels _worse._ As he watches the ghost seems to grow brighter, or maybe it’s just the world around him growing darker.

He thinks he hears Derek should his name. He can’t tell over the ringing in his ears, of the numbness spreading through him. He’ll never be warm again.

The abyss beckons him closer and he falls into it.

::

Lydia wakes up.

Face down in the dirt she opens her eyes slowly, disoriented. Erica is the first thing she sees, face lax in sleep, or unconscious more likely. She hears someone yelling. Forces herself to move, to shake off this cold that has seeped into her bones in time to see Allison’s arrow embed itself in the thick cover of Thomas’ book. It falls to the ground, lands with its pages bent, cover destroyed. She can feel _something_ coming off of it, a sense of decay and death.

“Give me everything they have, _everything!_ ”

Thomas is screaming, eyes wild with rage. Her brain takes each piece of information and comes together abruptly. He’s Matt’s _grandfather_ and Matt is back.  She looks for him but the area is _full_ of ethereal specters and she wonders how much she’s missed. She pushes herself to her knees, joints feeling stiff. She feels like frost should be covering her skin, melting with each movement she makes as she pushes herself to her feet and over to the rest of the pack.

Erica groans when Lydia checks her pulse, shakes her. Scott shifts from where he’s draped haphazardly over Boyd. They’re coming around, albeit slowly, waking from whatever’s kept them under, whether it’s from a limit on the spell put on them, or because of Thomas himself. Her gaze lands on the book.

“Allison!” She shouts. Something is building in her chest, her voice comes out rough, ragged. “Keep him away from that book!”

The pressure is increasing. The darkness inside of her growing larger and larger until it’s spilling forth and she screams.

It spreads like a physical force lighting up the night. It feels like something is trying to claw its way out the longer she goes and she’s terrified of what might happen if it does but she pushes harder, lets it have it’s way, lets it scrape her throat raw and make her ears ring until there’s nothing left except her banshee scream.

And the ethereal figures disappear, like a candle blown out, swept away in a trail of smoke until the clearing is empty around them.

Lydia screams until she can’t anymore and then she drops to her knees, exhausted, tears streaming down her cheeks.

There’s no one left standing.

Thomas is on the ground, hands clutching his head, groaning as blood drips from his nose and ears. Allison stands from her crouch, pulls her hands from her ears and grabs the book on the off chance he recovers enough to go after it. She crosses to Lydia and pulls her gently to her feet and into a hug. Lydia isn’t ashamed to admit she clings to her, soaking in the comfort offered.

“I’m so tired of being kidnapped.” Her voice is _wrecked_.

“What the hell happened?” Boyd rumbles, looking torn between wolfing out, like the others surrounding him, and trusting that the danger has passed. He climbs unsteadily to his feet and helps Erica to hers, a hand on her waist steadying her and keeping her close.

“Stiles!” Scott spots the pair first, obscured by the bushes across the clearing. The pack heads for Stiles and Derek, Allison leading Lydia over at a slower pace. She aches. An ache so deep she feels it in her bones. She thinks longingly of that bubble bath she’d been planning.

Stiles and Derek are fine, though it takes them a little bit longer to come around than the others. Stiles wakes with a start, panic in his gaze, hands flying to his chest and only Derek can calm him, reaching for his hands and holding them until he’s forced to meet Derek’s eyes and breathe.

“What do we do with him?” Isaac gestures at the heap of a man on the ground.

Allison, Stiles and Scott’s phones all go off at once. It startles them all and there’s a haste to get them out and silence the grating sound. The rest of them check and their phones are magically working again. Lydia has six missed calls from Jackson and something warm blooms in her chest.

“Yeah I’m still at Scott’s.” Stiles lies easily. He hasn’t made it off the ground yet, shoulder braced against Derek’s; if one of them moves Lydia is certain they’ll both fall over. “What do you mean mass hallucinations?”

Scott hangs up first, Allison a moment later, and the group turns expectantly to Stiles.

“Yeah dad, don’t worry I’ll stay indoors. No, I won’t answer the door. Dad, I’m 17. I know stranger danger.” There’s a pause and then Stiles says sheepishly, “love you too. Be safe.”

He hangs up and faces them.

“These things are all over town. Reports are coming in of ghosts showing up at people’s houses.”

“Mom said the same thing,” Scott supplies. “People coming in to get checked for hallucinations.”

“So that didn’t stop them?” Lydia sags against Allison.

“It doesn’t look like it.”

“What do we do then?” Even as she asks her gaze catches on Thomas’ book. It might not be much, but it’s a start.


	5. Chapter 5

“Any idea what we’re looking for?” Derek helpful yanks the arrow from the book, passing it over to him to flip through. The pages feel worn, fragile, and the cover feels leathery in a way that Stiles doesn’t want to think about. Despite the arrow that had been protruding from it, the pages are unscathed. The cover looks like the arrow barely pierced it. It makes him uneasy.

“Resurrection.” Lydia comes up next to him. She’s regained most of her colour, no longer pale and shaking. “He was trying to bring his grandson back.”

He’s not surprised that the bad guy decided to monologue. He looks like the type.

Nearby Scott and Isaac load the old man, bound and gagged, into the trunk of Allison’s car. He’s _really_ hoping they don’t get stopped by his dad or one of the deputies; this one will be hard to explain away.

Stiles skims through the old English, thankful it’s not Latin this time—it’s _always_ Latin and his is still too rusty to get by. There’s a couple of spells that stand out, rituals involving taking one life for another. It’s some dark shit that makes his skin prickle with a sense of _wrongness_. He’s looking for any mention of ghosts or spirits when a car comes roaring into the clearing at the Hale house.

Jackson’s Porsche skids to a stop next to his jeep and he’s out of his car before the engine has fully stopped.

“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for _hours_.”  It’s said in his usual douche tone but there’s worry and fear laid out across his face, in his stride as he crosses to them and pulls Lydia into a tight hug that he’ll probably deny later on. Stiles averts his gaze from the pair and focuses on the book before him. There’s still that sense of hurt, even months later, but it’s faded now, a dull ache that is more of a reminder than a physical pain. He doesn’t know what makes him look up, but he does to find Derek watching him intently, kaleidoscope eyes dark and serious. It pulls a smile to his lips and he drops his head, goes back to the book with the ache nothing more than a memory.

And then he sees it.

“Got it!” He crows, skimming through the text. “Energy transfer, ghosts, it’s got it all. He probably could have pulled it off too if not for us meddling kids.”

“Stiles.”

“Right sorry,” he waves Scott off. “Anyways, he needed a huge source of living energy, the wolves, to trade to bring back his grandson.”

“Matt.” Lydia supplies.

“ _What_?” Stiles demands, his gaze automatically searching the clearing for that haunting figure. His chest feels tight, cold where his fist went in.

“Thomas is Matt’s grandfather.” She shrugs. “He introduced himself.”

“Such a gentleman.” Erica says, dry as the desert.

“So, revenge was probably a bonus then.” He muses.

“If he was just trying to bring Matt back, why all the others?” Allison asks. “And if the rituals been interrupted, what about all of the ghosts in town?”

“He must have done something wrong.” Stiles frowns reading through the text again, looking for some way to shut it down.

“Guys,” Isaac gestures at the edge of the forest. Lights are headed their way, faces appearing in the trees. The Hales, he thinks as he glances back at the house; they’re attracted to the house. At least he hopes it’s the house and not Derek.

“We need to go.” Derek keeps his gaze away from the treeline and heads for the jeep.

Jackson and Lydia climb into the Porsche, Allison, Isaac and Scott into the car and Stiles reluctant tosses Derek the keys to his jeep so he can keep reading. Erica and Boyd climb into the back and they peel out of there, leading the group.

::

The streets of beacon hills are filled. Deserted of people, but lined with ethereal figures that turn and watch as they drive by. Derek tightens his grip on the wheel until it creaks and Stiles reaches over without looking to smack his arm.

“I’m open to suggestions.” He says, frustrated. His hair is standing on end from the amount of times he’s run his fingers through it and Derek’s fingers itch to do the same.

“Salt and burn the bones.” Erica suggests. Stiles’ lips quirk into a grin.

“Tempting but we’d probably end up setting the whole forest on fire.”

“Can we banish them?” Boyd asks.

Stiles drums his fingers on the page. Derek swerves to avoid driving through a particularly dense group of ghosts. That’s a feeling he doesn’t want to repeat.

“Head to Deaton’s.”

Derek makes the turn towards the vets. They pass a deputy’s cruiser, speeding the other way. He has no idea how the town is going to explain this one away.

The building is dark when they pull up, but Scott quickly unlocks the back door, ushering them in. To no one’s surprise Deaton isn’t there—the man has an incredible talent to never be where he’s needed—but Stiles just heads to his office, picks the lock in under a minute and steps inside, flicking the lights on. Derek tries not to be too impressed.

“What are we looking for?”

“White sage.” Stiles rummages through the shelves, easily finding what he’s looking for. He holds up the bundles triumphantly. “We can’t banish them but we can encourage them to go back to wherever they came from.”

Lydia pokes her head through the door, expression tight with worry.

“Not to hurry you but it looks like they’re all gathering outside.”

“Grab Thomas and bring him in.” Stiles presses by Derek, and he can’t help himself. His hands land on Stiles’ slim hips, holding him there.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Not really.” Stiles grins but there are lines of tension, tight around his eyes. “But I’m running out of ideas.”

Derek nods, trusts him. He lets his hands drop but Stiles doesn’t move right away, stays pressed close for a long moment. His eyes are like molten gold in the light and Derek wants to count the freckles and moles dotting his pale skin.

“Got him!” Jackson calls and the moment is interrupted, or more likely put on hold if the intense gaze Stiles levels him with is any indicator.

“The building is already lined with mountain ash.” Stiles is saying as they gather around the exam table. Thomas is seated on it, the book open next to him. He’s still bound and gagged but it makes Derek nervous to have them so close. “So, if they do get violent or try to get in, we’ll be safe.”

“How is smudging going to work?” Allison asks, handing over a lighter. “There’s too many of them and Beacon Hills is too big to cover.”

“It’s not for them specifically.” Lydia takes a bundle from Stiles and lights it. “It’s for Thomas.”

“Magic works in three parts,” Stiles lights the second bundle. It sounds like he’s quoting someone. “Power, focus and effect. The book is the power, the ghosts are the effect,”

“And Thomas is the focus.” Erica finishes, catching on quickly.

“So, if the book and Thomas are still connected, interrupting the ritual keeps the ghosts here, instead of sending them back.” Lydia takes Thomas and Stiles takes the book. Smoke quickly fills the little room and Derek has to cover his nose and mouth with his shirt to keep from choking on it. The others leave the room, too sensitive to the smell and the smoke to remain. Derek can hear them close by though, keeps one ear on them while he watches Stiles and Lydia.

They’re murmuring something, it’s low, barely a whisper and clearly in some old language. Thomas is coughing behind his gag; eyes watering and Derek almost feels bad for him. But he remembers the endless stares, his family surrounding him again but not really there and any sympathy he felt is lost.

His ears pop and he winces. But then Lydia is collecting the bundles in a small bowl, covering it up and placing it to the side and he realizes it must be done.

It’s all very anticlimactic. _Nothing_ is ever this easy.

“That’s it?”

“Modified version.” Stiles’ voice is hoarse from the smoke. He clears his throat. “We added a few things. But yeah, it should work.”

Derek leads Thomas from the smoke-filled room, sits him in the waiting room and joins the others peering out the windows. The parking lot is filled with the ghosts of the town. He thinks he recognizes a few faces but even as he watches they begin to fade away. Matt is front and center and when he’s faded away to nothing Stiles sags against his side. Derek tugs him closer, lets him lean against him and soaks up his warmth and presence.

“How long do you think it will take?” Isaac asks, hand on the glass. Derek wonders if he sees his brother out there.

“No clue.” Stiles yawns. “We should probably make ourselves comfortable.”

He doesn’t move though, seemingly content to lean against Derek.

“Still don’t know what we’re going to do about him.”

“I have a few ideas.” Jackson answers Allison with a dark grin. “Think of it as payback.”

“You know you can’t _kill_ him, right?” Isaac looks alarmed but he just smirks.

“He kidnapped Lydia, he thinks werewolves are _real_. I’ve got a story I can spin for my parents.”

Somehow Derek doesn’t think they’ll be hearing from Thomas again.

::

“I can’t believe you _ran_ out to the preserve.” Stiles says fondly as he pulls up to the loft hours later. The horizon is slowly lightening with the first glimpse of morning. He aches all over, is tired in a way where he could sleep for a week, but he’s not ready for it yet.

“It’s not that far.” Derek protests.

“Only you would think that.”

In the back-seat Erica and Boyd make gagging sounds until they’re let out. They disappear inside and Derek watches them, listening for them to make it upstairs alright.

“Hey,” Stiles touches his thigh, catches his attention but doesn’t move his hand. “They’re fine. We’re all fine.”

“Yeah,” the hesitant smile that spreads across Derek’s face is heartbreaking in its sincerity.  “I’m just not used to it being so…easy.”

“Easy?” Stiles scoffs. “You just had to sit there. Allison and I had to rescue you.”

Derek rolls his eyes and there’s something about the moment, the charge in the air that has Stiles leaning in before he can over think it. He presses a quick kiss to the corner of his lips, feels his smile, the rough scrape of his stubble and pulls back to take in the look of surprise that spreads across his face.

“Are you actually speechless?” Stiles babbles, nerves and good humor mixing together to create an odd warm feeling that blooms in his chest. “I mean, it’s not like you talk a lot anyways but speechless, this is a first for me.”

“Stiles,” there’s a pretty blush across Derek’s cheeks. “Let me take you to dinner.”

“What, now?” He glances at the clock on the dashboard.

“Tonight.” He clarifies, looking soft in the early morning light. Stiles doesn’t stop the smile that spreads across his face.

“Like a date.”

“If you want.”

“I kissed you dude,” Stiles can’t help how fond he feels. “If you didn’t mean as a date I don’t think my ego could recover.”

“I’m sure you’d be fine.” Derek says dryly.

Stiles leaves once he’s in the building, follows the quiet roads home. His dad will be off work soon, will probably have questions that Stiles isn’t ready to answer. Swamp gas seems like a pretty good excuse—mass hallucinations. He wonders how many people will buy it; probably most of them. No one wants to believe there’s something in the dark waiting for them.  

He pulls into the drive and lets himself into the dark house, flicking on the kitchen light as he goes. His eyes are gritty and he feels sluggish. There’s still a chill in his bones and he thinks longingly of a hot shower, wondering if he can stay awake long enough.

He grabs a blanket and tosses it on the couch, if he sleeps down here it’ll be the first thing he dad sees when he comes inside and he knows from experience that will help ease some of the tension and anxiety he carries with him after hard shifts.

Something catches his eye, a flicker of movement outside the window. He looks, feels his heart stop. She’s faded in the pre- dawn light, not solid like the ghosts in the forest. Her gaze is on him, but not dark, endless and eternal. It’s warm. A smile curves her lips.

His breath catches in his chest and he stumbles into motion, hurrying to the window. He yanks it open, sticks his head out. The yard is empty, silent. She’s gone.

There’s the sound of footsteps on the front porch and for a heart pounding moment he waits, praying. The door swings open and his dad comes in.

“Stiles?” He calls out, before spotting him. He looks like he’s aged years in a night. There are tight lines around his mouth and his eyes look tired. When he sees Stiles though, his shoulders sag, like a tremendous weight has been lifted off of them. “I thought I told you to stay at Scott’s.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He lies as his feet lead him across the space.

“I’m just glad you’re alright, kiddo,” he accepts the hug easily, sinks into it and breathes his father in. “You have no idea the kind of night I’ve had.”

“I can imagine.” He murmurs, glancing back at the window. He swears he sees something in the split second before he blinks. But then it’s gone and it’s just the two of them in their living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sooooo much to everyone who left kudos and comments!! They mean a lot :) I had a lot of fun writing this so hopefully there will be more! October isn't over yet and I have more in mind for this collection. If anyone recognizes it, Stiles is quoting the show The Librarians cause my mom and I have been marathoning that on and off! The smudging Stiles and Lydia do is loosely based on a few googled rituals recommended so hopefully it's not too off base. So I hope you enjoyed this! (Seriously, everyone who commented I just want to hug you all...so if you don't like hugs start running now.) I might work on a separate piece where Derek works through the nightmares he's bound to have from this...or just his nightmares in general...so keep an eye out!


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